


Late Night Chats: Mother and Son

by MTriniSepulveda (WriterOfStories)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath, Angels, Apologies, Astronomy, Choices, Consquences, Demons, Female God - Freeform, Humanity, Offers, Other, Stars, also mentions of Warlock, based off the TV show more than the book, but he doesn't actually show up, over-due talk, same with Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22331668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterOfStories/pseuds/MTriniSepulveda
Summary: How could God just watch as half of her children fell? Did She really stand by, watching with the proud smile that everyone says She wore, and just cheered when a sibling threw the other to Hell? Or did She try to stop it, screaming her voice raw, only to watch her children fall?"No one’s ever asked that."Or, God finally answers Crowley's question... that he wasn't actually asking.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & God (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	Late Night Chats: Mother and Son

He had known he needed air the moment the wine glass almost slipped out of his jittery hold. Aziraphale had, thankfully, been looking for some book behind him therefore not looking at him. Crowley had stared down at his hands for a full minute, sixty whole seconds, before standing up and announcing somewhat drunkenly that he needed to go to the bathroom. He did not go to the bathroom. He didn’t know where it even was, despite having being visiting for as long as the bookshop’s existed. Instead, Crowley had taken the stairs to the second floor of the bookshop, and then went up two extra stairs and ended in the rooftop of the building. There wasn’t a lot there other than the occasional poop stain from the rude birds Crowley had scared once or twice as a snake. His hands were still shaking when he got there though. He didn’t need air as much as he needed a second for himself to think.

The Armaggenot had been an emotional rollercoaster in on itself. From the night before the Antichrist’s (and the Not-So-Antichrist’s) birthday till he took Aziraphale to the Ritz for lunch. Emotions had been working overtime, and while Crowley was a very emotional demon all the time, the Armagedidn’t had taken a lot out of him. After the Ritz, both angel and demon had fallen asleep together in the couch of the bookshop’s backroom. Crowley had never seen Aziraphale even express wanting to sleep. But after that was done, after he had made a toast to the rest of eternity with over-priced champagne at the Ritz, he had really thought it was over. No Hell to fear, no Heaven to possibly-fight-in-Aziraphale’s-name, no end of the world to worry about. Just him, and his angel, and free will… It felt almost human. Crowley liked almost human. Humans were much better than any ethereal and/or occult being he had ever met since before the beginning of time. It was nice. Then he visited the Dowling estate briefly because, even though he would deny it, Crowley had grown attached to the young boy he spent eleven years, day in and day out, caring for.

And Warlock didn’t remember him.

He had just stared at Crowley, who was dressed as Nanny for one last time, and commented rudely on his skirt. There was no memory of any nanny or gardener in the boy’s brain. No recognition. Nothing. This boy, the same boy who when younger would run ––a rapid waddle, really–– and get in Crowley’s bed after a nightmare. Or who spent years staring at Crowley’s cup of tea, only to scrunch his face in disgust when he finally tried it. Same boy who would climb over Aziraphale’s, then Brother Francis, shoulders to read whatever book the angel was reading but instead getting bored and pulling Aziraphale away to play a game. It was the same boy. The same bright blue eyes. But he no longer remembered Crowley.

_Stop it, now._ He glared at his shaking hands as he pulled away from the memories. Of course Warlock wouldn’t remember him, or Aziraphale, or anything that they were involved in. Adam had changed reality, made his human father to have always been his father, which made Warlock Dowling the true son of Harriet and Thaddeus Dowling… He was never the Antichrist. Crowley and Aziraphale never tried to educate him as the Antichrist. Never Nanny Ashtoreth, nor Brother Francis. There was never a ticking bomb in this edited reality.

It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did. And Go–– that annoyed Crowley. When did he get so attached? Did he not learn that humans die? That humans fade away, go deep into their thoughts, and leave? That they got sick? Suffered? He couldn’t handle watching them suffer… Reminded him too much of his early days after the fall. He still got attached, he still felt uselessness wrap around his heart when they started suffering, he still bit back tears the nights after receiving the news. How, though, was he supposed to have expected this? How was he supposed to react? Maybe it was an exaggeration, but Crowley had always been to undermine his life, but he really wondered if this was what it felt to lose a child. To not be able to hold them, or comfort them, or see them celebrate the small things. It probably wasn’t. But, and this is where his mind started spiraling down into its darkest depths, if that is how it felt to lose children… how could God just watch as half of her children fell? Did She really stand by, watching with the proud smile that everyone says She wore, and just cheered when a sibling threw the other to Hell? Or did She try to stop it, screaming her voice raw, only to watch her children fall?

_No one’s ever asked that._ Her voice was a warmth that invaded his mind and reached out to every corner and crevice, so quickly and suddenly and unexpected that he staggered on his feet, gripping the waist-high ledge to avoid falling. It was a warmth that only a loving mother’s voice could bring, soft and safe; one that run so deep he felt it on the tip of his feathers, which existed in a completely different plane of existence. Crowley had not been expecting an answer, at all, but once the shock wore off ––it took less than a fraction of a second–– the warmth chilled immediately, leaving only a shiver down his back as proof of there ever being a warmth in its place.

He didn’t turn to look at Her but he knew she was there. Physically present. Anyone within ten feet of her would know. Would feel Her. “Wha’?”

_In six thousand years… No one has asked that._

Maybe he was way more drunk than he realized because part of him thought She sounded… sad. Resigned. He only hummed in response. The silence that fell over them was like a weighted blanket, almost suffocating almost nice but overall heavy. It rested in his shoulders as his thoughts drifted away from the holy being next to him. She didn’t give him an answer, but he wasn’t going to ask again. What for? Have the answer make him feel somehow worse than before? No. No thanks. Instead, he let his thoughts run again as if unpausing a movie. Watch them wander down the four flights of stairs and into the backroom of the bookshop before heading out the door, where they would head North, to Lower Tadfield, before jumping to the Dowling estate. Crowley watched the shadows of loose leaves dance with the wind against the pavement. It was so quiet outside; no person strolling, no animal weaving between the light and shadow, not even a car rolling down the street as the driver headed home. Just the wind playing around. How late was it really?

_I don’t think I ever told you,_ God broke the silence, voice softer than a whisper but louder than church bells, _but I love what you did up there_.

Crowley finally let himself to glance at the being briefly, not really taking in Her appearance before following her eyes up to the sky. The stars were the brightest they had been in a couple of weeks. Probably God’s doing as She seemed so enthralled with the twinkling balls of gas. “Thank you,” he muttered.

_I’ve taken a liking to laying in the grass at different parks and just watching them._

“I used to do that, y’know?” He chuckled quietly as he mentally drew the lines between the stars to form constellations that humans hadn’t figure out quite yet, and would never do. “Just sit and watch ‘em, checkin’ if they were aligned correctly. The others thought I was insane.”

_Might be the reason why you created so much more than they did. You cared._

“You didn’t.”

God didn’t answer. Crowley refused to believe he was having this conversation with Her. He turned his head to look at Her and noticed how actually shiny She was. Her whole form emitted a soft white glow. She was a body of light and shadow together, in that impossible way of hers. The body itself was constantly changing, never settling in anything long enough for him to be able to describe Her if Aziraphale asked later. Her hair grew longer and shorter as rapidly as it could, changing colors just as easily, and her facial features switched just as quickly as Crowley’s brain processed them. He noticed that sometimes Her hair would look a bit too much like Hijabs, but they didn’t stay long enough for him to truly tell. There was no description to her, something that he found quite annoying because of course she was ambiguous even about Her looks, but he did find a common thread among her looks: They all looked motherly. He’d met enough loving mothers, caring mothers, that he saw most of them in Her. The realization hit him like a brick: God was currently identifying with women, and Her body was representing every mother that had experienced life since Eve. If he stared for a little bit, God didn’t mention it. Her eyes had been stuck to the sky, watching the stars with ––Crowley dared name–– fondness.

_I did. I––I really did._

He waited for a second for Her to continued but when she didn’t, Crowley took a deep breath and turned back to connect the constellations together. “Well, it’s been six thousand years. Water under the bridge an’ all.”

_Right… You were never one to forgive and forget._ She chuckled. Those who had been lucky to meet Her always argued about the sound of her laughter. Some heard ocean waves, others the rustling of leaves, some even described it as the voices of angels which was the most ironic thing ever. Crowley didn’t hear any of that. Her laughter reminded him of chiming bells; not the deep chime of church bells but the high-pitched little bell that hung over the bookshop’s door. _Huh? Like when Gabriel called that constellation of yours… uh, the uh… what was it called?_

“Alpha Centauri?”

_Yeah! That one!_ She grinned, _he insulted it and you pranked him for a whole week! He was furious!_

Crowley frowned worriedly. He never thought he’d ask something even similar to this but… was God okay? “Heh. It’s a star system, but yeah, I––I remember… Might be the reason why he threw me out the window.”

God’s light mood quickly dimmed, Her shoulders hunching slightly and the bright smile that had taken over her faded slightly. _Star system, of course. I’m sorry, it’s been quite long since I got to talk about the stars._

“You–– You wot?!”

Her ever-changing face turned to look at him in confusion. She glanced away briefly, seemingly rethinking her words before frowning even more confused at him. _What?_

“Ok, enough,” Crowley growled. He had been taking it lightly. Talking to God, who had failed to answer his prayers and ignored his words for a bit more than six thousand years, was one thing. One thing he was trying to not think too hard about because he was sure to find the potholes. But there was only so much Crowley could ignore without losing him mind. And having God apologize ––praise him and his work!–– was one of those things he just couldn’t ignore. “Why are you here? You–You probably know more about stars than I do, and it’s been six thousand years of great ol’ celestial silence, and you’re laughing at me inconveniencin’ one of your highest angels, and–and–and–and now you’re apologizing?!”

She remained silent for a couple of minutes, staring back at the stars. _You stopped time._

“Yeah.”

_You’re not supposed to be able to do that. Or switch bodies with a holy being._

“Oh… _oh_ ,” he scoffed annoyed, “so, wha’? You here for damage control? ‘Cause your angels couldn’t do it?”

_No!_ God exclaimed indignantly, snapping her head to look at him. She scoffed at him, one too similar to the exasperated scoff that he’d hear Harriet Dowling do as Warlock got older. _No, I am not–– Hmm. No. I am not here because of that._

He raised an eyebrow, “Then why are you here?”

_To ask you._ She admitted softly. _How did you do it? How did you change… everything?_

The second question was much easier to answer than the first one, so he took a second to think about it. Had he really not been able to stop time before he actually did it? Crowley had been overwhelmed and needed a second that the world wouldn’t give him, but it wasn’t even for himself. He was used to living his life in a constant Anxiety State every waking hour. It had been for Aziraphale, who was desperately looking for an answer and couldn’t find it in the place he could find it pre-Armaggedidn’t, and it had been Adam’s young face ––looking around as the ground trembled under them–– that no longer held the same confidence that it had done before. It had been the situation. The need. The weight of a big responsibility on a young boy’s shoulders who didn’t deserve it, a thing that had always rubbed him wrong from the beginning of humanity. So, he had done it. Stopped time. Bought them a second, long enough to offer Adam enough advice and support that he ended up doing the right decision. He gave them a chance to breathe because he knew how much he needed it himself. And the switching of bodies had been much easier; he had simply thought about it, another one of his crazy ideas that should not have worked as well as it did (another Dumb Idea had been the Holy Water for Ligur and Hastur’s visit).

“I––I just did it… And I didn’t change anythin’, that was the kid.”

_Adam,_ she hummed with a certain fondness to her voice, _nice kid. Quite creative too, reminds me a lot of someone I know_.

Crowley huffed out a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

He shook his head as the small smile slipped off his face. He leaned his elbows on the ledge and inspected his hands, without really looking at them. Adam was a nice kid, but he was nothing like the never-ending whirlwind of mischief that Warlock was. The actual Antichrist was much happier and cheerful, a sunshine really, unlike Warlock who had been mischievous for the sake of the prank. Annoying just to see his parents get annoyed. With a persistence that could battle Adam’s charm. They would be quite an unstoppable force, if they ever met, but there were no chances of that happening now, were they? Because even if it did happen, Crowley wouldn’t be able to stand being in that room. So close yet so far. Warlock wasn’t even his kid. Crowley should _not_ care as much as he did.

_He may not hav–––_

“Can you stop readin’ my mind? Thanks.” He growled sarcastically. Once upon a time he would’ve cared about speaking like that to Her, worrying that maybe She’d kill him once and for all. After the 14th century, he just couldn’t get himself to give two craps anymore.

_Not really, no. Your thoughts are very loud._ He looked at her and watched her chuckle quietly, her shoulders bobbing up and down. There was a soft smile on her face. Was she enjoying this? _Everyone’s thoughts are loud. I’m not trying to make your life any harder._

“Whatever.”

_Humans thoughts are much louder though,_ she admitted after a brief tense pause. _And always going on, even when asleep._

“I know,” Crowley hummed, “Warlock’s dreams are–– were very loud.”

_Oh? Since when can you listen to thoughts?_

“Since when can you?” He raised an eyebrow at Her, calling her out on her shit. It took practice. Loads and loads of practice. Tuning in was a little bit easier than tuning out, he’d found out a few months in. It had made it much easier for him to figure out if the infant wanted food, sleep, or poop.

_I’ve been living down here for a while now._

“A while? How long’s that?”

_Uh, well, irrelevant_. Crowley raised an eyebrow at her, and she sighed. It reminded him a lot of Aziraphale when he tried to avoid telling him about him giving the flaming sword away to the humans. And failed miserably. Maybe it was an angel thing… Then again God wasn’t an angel, but maybe it also counts because angels were based off of her? Or mayb–– no, there were more important things for Crowley to worry about. _1965_.

“19––Wot?!” He yelled as he turned his whole body to look at Her. His golden snake-eyes were as wide as plates and the sunglasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose from the sharp turning. “That’s–That’s like fifty-odd years. You’ve been here for _fifty_ years and said nothing?!”

_Mhmm_.

He scoffed and pushed the glasses up his nose aggressively. With that same aggression he spoke sarcastically, “Thanks for the help with the Antichrist, huh? Fucking wonderful.”

_Would you have me change the past?_ She pondered out loud, voice softer than it had been since She appeared. Crowley thought about it. If he did anything well, it was the fact that he never rushed into things (unless it involved danger for people he cared about). He wondered about how much easier things would have gone, the stress that he’d avoid, if God had been involved but there was also the fact that maybe they’d still be working for Heaven and Hell. _Would you give up the things you gained for one bad experience?_

“You didn’t live it, you don’t get to say it was a bad experience.”

_You’re right… but would you?_

He stayed silent for a second, squinting his eyes at the flittering shadows down in the streetlamp-lit street as he thought about it. “Who would have you sided with?”

A small smile tugged at her lips. A knowing smile that Crowley missed but would have otherwise tried to wipe off Her face. _I don’t know._

“You do.”

_Maybe I do,_ She chuckled at his I’m-so-done-with-this-bullshit expression, _but we can’t really base things off of maybes, can we?_

She was right, but Crowley wasn’t going to admit that even to himself because he knew she’d listen. He wouldn’t risk it. Maybe having God there would have made things so much harder. She would have sided with Heaven, with the angels that followed her words (even if it was in their own twisted ways). She would have smitten them down the second they sided with Adam, and by correlation with humanity, instead of with Her. Or maybe She would have sided with them, with humanity. Maybe She would have stood behind Adam, while Crowley and Aziraphale stood at his sides, as they faced Her fallen son. Maybe Adam would have never had the responsibility of the world thrust on his shoulders at age eleven. Maybe She would have told them that they got the wrong child on the first day. Maybe they wouldn’t have met Warlock at all. Maybe he and Aziraphale wouldn’t have dined at the Ritz after things were finally over.

_He wasn’t your child, but that means nothing. You cared for him like a parent loves their kid. He wasn’t yours, but he was._

Crowley didn’t tell her off for listening to her thoughts again. He instead looked at his no-longer-shaking hands, curling his fingers and stretching them slowly. It was getting colder as the night progressed, and even though She was expelling a comforting warmth, his fingers were starting to feel the chill of the night. “But… it feels horrible. It’s so much worse than losing a human… but he’s also human.”

_It is different, Crowley. Losing a friend isn’t the same as losing a kid. The Greeks called these different feelings Philia and Storge, for a reason. The love of the mind and the love of the child._

“Greeks were pretty smart back then, I guess.” He hummed quietly to himself. He met a couple of Greek philosophers, like Sappho, that were worth listening to. That was long ago, though. There had been a couple more people also worth listening every new year. Crowley turned to look at Her and glanced away quickly after noticing she was looking down at him. He hadn’t realized how much taller than him She was. At least two feet. “Why’d you make ‘em so fragile?”

_They’re not like us, Crowley. That’s what makes them so special. It’s their short life and the fragility of it that makes their actions so impactful… And that was the main thing, wasn’t it? Free will. The option of doing, and feeling, and asking at their own risk._

“So wha’? Built ‘em after us?”

_I… I wouldn’t say all of you, no._ She stammered out. He glanced at her and found Her watching the stars once more. He was about to ask why She was there to begin with, telling him that She created humans after some of the fallen, but She spoke first. _I am sorry, for the whole Warlock thing._

Crowley snarled. “He’s not dead.”

_Not what I meant,_ She corrected without looking down at him. _Memories do come back most of the times._

“He didn’t forget us,” he huffed, “he never even met us now, ‘cause of the kid.”

_If that’s what you choose to believe._

A frown pulled at his brows. He was never really fond of Her cryptic messages. They were sometimes a bit too on the nose for him, but he didn’t waste his breath on telling her. She probably knew by the way her eyes crinkled with amusement but other than that didn’t let him know. Instead, he tried to turn the conversation away from Warlock. He would spend hours later thinking over her words, trying to make sense out of them. Trying to get the hidden message behind her cryptic words. Should he try and get Warlock back?

“Why are you here again?”

_No clouds._ Her ever-changing eyes flittered back to the stars and a small smile tugged at her lips. Crowley looked up at them once again. He noticed a single fading star among the sea of twinkling orbs and sighed.

The words slipped out in a mumble before he could stop them, “Too bad they’re about to fade.”

_Yeah. That’s why I’m here._ That was the saddest she had sounded throughout the whole conversation; sad enough that it caused him to look at Her worriedly. _Why must something so beautiful fade? They have been the one constant since before Time. Species go extinct and cultures are forgotten…_

“Well, they gotta die at _some_ point. Nothin’ is built to last forever.”

_Yeah…_

“You made it that way.”

_Yeah. Who would’ve thought that I would love something so much I’d end up experiencing grief like humans do?_

“Well, you can always make more?” he offered hesitant. She had probably already thought of that.

_It wouldn’t be the same. Not underneath, I mean._

Crowley thought of Aziraphale once more. He wondered briefly what the angel was doing before realizing that he had probably gone back to a book without much thought. He was kind of drunk, after all. Crowley looked at Her, truly looked at the micro-expressions she was doing unconsciously. At how sadness seemed drown Her eyes, and how the corners of Her mouth turned upwards in a resigned way. He watched her cautiously ––not really knowing if She was aware of him doing so or just ignoring it–– and did something that was probably a very dumb idea. Crowley tuned into God’s thoughts.

They were… overwhelming. Like getting hit with a wave of every feeling possible but sadness being the strongest one. It wasn’t just sadness, everyone knew how that one felt, and it wasn’t heartbreak (he also knew that one because of 1967), but grief has its own distinct bitter feel to it. It was sadness, and anger, and hope, and reminiscence all mixed together into one weird cocktail. It was bitter and strong, but not in the good sense that alcohol could sometimes be. The thoughts were also rushing, like hundreds of trains speeding in circles around each other only just missing each other. Too many, too fast, for anyone to function properly. Even God herself. He finally understood, as he untangled the net of thoughts that had engulfed him as soon as he tuned in, why She had been living down on Earth for the last couple of years. She had been there less than a human lifespan. Hadn’t experience getting endeared with a young, creative and curious, human and watching them grow old. Or maybe She had. Maybe that was what brought Her to that rooftop with him; with words that he had never expected to come out of Her mouth. There wasn’t time for him to untangle another thought. There were more things in Her mind to see. There was the answer to his first question (it brought a knot to his throat), there was the sadness that washed over him as She glanced from a fading star to another, and there was too a feeling ––one that swallowed him whole–– that he had become well aware of since he visited the Dowling estate. Grief. Pure and unadultered grief. Heavy like something dragging one down deeper into the water. It was all consuming. And then, buried deep within the grief and the anger and the sadness, was the thought he was looking for. The one that explained why She was staring at the stars the way she did. Like someone watching their parents delve into Alzheimer’s, knowing that soon they’ll disappear, and that time is running thin, but not knowing how thin.

“You didn’t know,” he exhaled.

_I knew, of course I did. I was the one who ordered for them to last six thousand years._

“No, no, no. You didn’t know the world _wouldn’t_ end last week.”

She didn’t say anything. Her shoulders raised as she took a deep breath, one that she didn’t need as she didn’t have lungs but that told him she had tried to seem human for too long and now it was stuck to her subconscious.

“What––What would have happened if did end? If Adam had decided it wasn’t worth saving.”

_Nothing._

“Yeah, right.”

_Nothing. Not on this world. On a new one, a bird would sing for the first time._

“I thought it was all planned. The Ineffable Plan, and all that shit…” He wondered out loud. “You knew that the world wouldn’t actually en––”

_There is no Ineffable Plan_. She sighed out and for the second time in the evening, Crowley’s body turned to face at her in disbelief. Her eyes had fallen shut. Crowley realized She was tired. Tired of them, of humanity? Or… something else? _They all follow a plan they don’t know anything about. What would have happened if it was to kill of these humans? Would they have killed them?_

“Without hesitation.”

_That’s not what I wanted._ Her eyes flittered open once more and She turned her chin just slightly enough to look at him. Her eye bore deep into his.

“So,” he swallowed the knot that suddenly formed in his throat under her stare. “What was it? A sham?”

_There’s no way for an ineffable plan to even exist. As long as it exists, it can be contradicted. You can stray from it. You can go against it. Why create such a plan? You know I created humans to have free will, but do you really think I made you any different?_

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, nothing leaving every time. All of his life, up until that point, he had thought that things happened because of this plan. Aziraphale thought it too and gave him a lecture every time he doubted it. But the news that it was all fake, that there wasn’t really a plan, was… freeing. No plan to follow (or to go against).

“No plan.”

_No plan._

“The world didn’t end… because there is no plan?”

_The Great Plan did exist. That is why you were able to go against it. I––I didn’t expect you to go against it,_ she chuckled amused and a tad surprised as she admitted it. _I’m glad you did._

The two looked up at the stars in silence for the last time during their conversation. The stars were looking quite pretty that night. A part of him finally realized that there were only a few weeks left for him to look up at them. Soon they would be too faint to see with the human eye, and then in a year, they would disappear forever. The universe would go back to being a dark, black, empty place. Just like before. Before God had handed him a wooden box, no bigger than his forearm, with a pencil and a small notepad inside. Perfect things to plan a universe. Before he felt the stardust gather around his fingertips, swirling in his palm, changing colors as it did.

_That’s why I’m here, I guess._ She said surprised as she blinked a couple of times. _To apologize. For not fighting harder during the revolution, for letting you fall, for not thanking you, for not reaching out…_

She turned slightly to look at him and staggered back when She noticed the absolute disgust in his face. His lips were pulled into a snarl, an eyebrow raised over the sunglasses, and he was absolutely silent. “Don’t.”

_What?_ She chuckled nervously. Crowley should have taken pride at making God nervous, but his mind was somewhere else. _It’s the trut––_

“Shh, shh, shh, shh. Don’t.”

_I understand, it has been too long. I’m sorry._

“What?! No, I–– Oh boy,” Crowley huffed frustrated, “Don’t apologize. I got over it. Whatever. Six thousand years. You can’t change the past.”

_But I can_. Her face metaphorically lit up ––‘metaphorically’ because a being of light cannot technically light up–– and she turned to the stars once more. _I could stop them ever throwing you out… You could go back to creating stars, and life, in that creative way that I’ve only seen on you. You could still be an angel, never have fallen. I could re-write history, like Adam did._

“I like being a demon, thank you very much,” he grumbled out, leaning on the ledge as he stared up, following the imaginary lines that created Cassiopeia. She glanced at him briefly before scoffing incredulously.

_You hate it… Maybe, maybe even make you human, if that’s what you preferred._

Crowley almost snapped his head to look at her but refrained himself from doing so. It was tempting. Humanity, even being an angel, sounded so good. Anything but demon. Maybe then he would be able to… What would change though? What would he lose?

_You’re smart, my boy._ Her shoulders lowered; she had reached peace at mind. The thoughts that had been bothering her finally being resolved. _I will be here next Friday, there’ll be no clouds again. If you accept, you’ll watch the stars with me. I wish the best for you till then, my son._

His heart swelled uncomfortably at those last two words. He watched her walk away, towards the opposite ledge of the rooftop and fade out, taking her warmth and light with her, plunging him into darkness. A cold gush of wind numbed his body. He glanced up the stars once more before noticing out of the edge of his sight that someone was walking down the previously empty streets. It was an older woman, with a floral scarf covering her hair, as she slowly made her way out. He could only see her back, but he didn’t doubt for a second she’d have the same maternal eyes he had spent the last hour talking to. Crowley stretched his back, rolling his shoulders, and made his way to the door, giving the stars one last brief glance before heading down the four flights of stairs. The offer sat heavy on his mind. It was an offer of brand new, of creativity, of a second chance. It would let him live his life like he did before the fall, before his wings were singed in boiling sulphur. He would be able to create whole universes again. Oh, what he’d give to be able to create a single star between his fingers. To see it shine and remind him that there is always a tomorrow. Even the offer of humanity was great. To grow old, to do things without worrying of his ex-employer or Heaven, to know that everything will end at some point. To never see another friend die, knowing that he’ll be alive to even meet their grandchildren’s grandchildren. It was a great offer. He finished climbing down the stairs and collapsed on the couch, pushing the offer to the backburner for him to think before going to sleep.

The next Friday arrived quietly, and that night God stood alone on the bookstore’s rooftop. A faint knowing smile pulling at her lips as she watched the dying stars. And if right before dawn began, a brand-new constellation decorated the sky (one that humans wouldn’t notice for another fifty years), then it must be a figment of your imagination because a demon drinking wine in that bookshop below certainly cannot create new stars… Right?


End file.
